To Friendship
by HB's Favourite
Summary: This is dedicated to anyone who would love to spend an evening in the company of Miss Constance Hardbroom.
1. Chapter 1

I needed a break from "Bellatoxica" – it's getting a bit intense; but I didn't want to end up with writer's block, so thought I'd put this together by way of creative exercise...

It will only be a couple of chapters long, and is dedicated to anyone who would love to spend an evening with Constance Hardbroom. It's not meant to be great quality, either. I wrote all of it in one sitting and have barely edited, other than to correct mistakes. Unfortunately, that won't account for the fact that FanFiction sometimes sticks two words together, so apologies for any such instances.

**To Friendship **

1

I pressed my foot lightly to the brake and Walker's Gate swung open, the full glory of Cackle's Academy looming ahead. The late afternoon sun glinted off the upper windows, and as I edged cautiously into the yard I saw Constance looking out from the potions lab. My face broke into a broad grin and I waved, enthusiastically. Constance merely nodded, half smiling in her usual non-committal way as the gates closed behind me with a wave of her casting fingers. Faces of young witches appeared at the windows, their expressions aghast. It always surprised me how amazed they were to see a car; but then again my reaction to their broomsticks never failed to be a cause of their own amusement.

The car crunched across the smattering of gravel which led around the side of the Castle to where Miss Drill parked her Toyota. I stepped out, remotely locking the doors of my own vehicle as I caught sight of yet another gash in the side of Imogen's electric blue Rav 4. For a woman with so many comparatively masculine pursuits, she never had mastered the art of driving...

x

It was Amelia I encountered first, her grey hair fanning out behind her as she scurried down the stairway in a manner which suggested she had every intention of reaching the canteen before the girls did. She did a double take as she saw me approaching.

'My dear! How lovely it is to see you,' she beamed, her eyes creasing at the corners. 'And to what do we owe this pleasure?'

I smiled, feeling myself blush slightly at the compliment.

'I'm here to deprive you of your deputy headmistress's company,' I replied, as she squeezed one of my hands warmly between both of hers.

'Of _course_, of course,' Amelia nodded vigorously in recollection, before glancing in the direction of the canteen as the first clatter of hobnailed boots emanated from upstairs. 'I must go, I'm afraid, duty calls!' She turned and hastened towards the canteen as her calf-length grey cardigan flowed behind her. 'Do have a wonderful time, won't you?'

I stopped myself calling words of thanks after her, realising they would go unheard, and turned towards the stairs to fight my way through the throng of determined pupils on the way to dinner.

x

'Seriously, Imogen,' I jibed, as the gym mistress stirred sugar into my tea. 'It sounds like you could've parked a bus in that space. How on earth did you manage to get pranged?'

Imogen sighed, making her way across the staffroom and placing the cup and saucer on the table in front of me.

'I don't know,' she said, helplessly. 'I'd been so distracted negotiating the parallel park, I just didn't notice the concrete bollard at the edge of the pavement, so when I swung the door open...' she thumped the sides of her fists together in midair, as if to indicate a collision. 'Who puts bollards that close to the kerb, anyway?'

I stifled a grin as I sipped my tea, catching Davina's look of "c'est la vie" from the other side of the table.

'Broomsticks are much safer, dear,' she affirmed, in a whisper.

'And you?' It took me a moment before I realised Imogen's question was directed at me.

'Oh, what - _me?_ What?'

'Have _you_ been on a broomstick yet? I'm pretty sure last time you were here you were saying you'd have a go before we saw you again.'

'_Oh_, well – no,' I lied, every ounce of my resolve focussed on stopping the mischievous smile from creeping across my lips. 'Although I did get hold of my mother's ornamental broomstick from the shed the other day – by _ornamental_ I mean it's made in the style of a witch's broom, but without the intention for it to be sky-bound. And I placed it on the floor and asked it to hover, but,' I did a thumbs-down gesture. 'Nitto.'

'You can't just use _any_ old broom,' Davina said animatedly, as if she thought I was hearing this information for the first time. 'Oh no, they have to be enchanted. I suppose it's like you Christians just drinking any old plonk at church. No no no! The communion wine must be _blessed_ first!'

I frowned sceptically at Davina, my chin resting on my fist as it dawned on me that she really did think every non-witch in the world went to church on Sundays.

My musings were shattered by the door being thrust open, and everyone jumped as Constance swept in, her eyes acknowledging me momentarily before she deliberately turned her attention to the other two.

'Really,' she sighed, 'I have yet to come up with a way of entering a room whereby the two of you don't accuse me of giving you a fright.'

'I didn't even _say_ anything!' Imogen rose to her feet with an air of confrontation that made me feel uneasy. Constance merely sneered at her from her towering height. She really was, I thought, quite magnificent when she was angry.

'You needn't have,' Constance retorted. 'The two of you jumped like a couple of comprehensive-school teenagers caught _in flagrante _behind the bicycle sheds.'

As I bit back a snigger, I was sure Constance shot me a glance of satisfaction at her own quip.

'Perhaps _quietly_ is the key word here,' muttered Davina into her knitting. Constance bent down so that her face was level with the chanting teacher's.

'I beg your pardon, Miss Bat?'

'I simply meant, Constance, that via a door... in the customary calm way... and not out of thin air...' she visibly withered under the deputy's glare, her voice reducing to a quivering whisper. 'That's all...'

'Hmm...' Constance rose to her feet, folding her arms and turning her full attention to me for the first time. 'Shall we?'

x

It came as no surprise to me that Constance still did not know how to buckle the seatbelt of a car. She fumbled impatiently with it, several times declining my offer of assistance until she gave up, sitting back in her seat with a huff and apparently mentally counting to ten, her eyes flashing wildly somewhere in the middle distance. Biting my lip, I dared to reach around her, sliding the belt across her front and clicking it into place as she surveyed me closely.

'Thank you,' she said, without a hint of gratitude. I rolled my eyes and turned the key in the ignition, the engine coming to life and a multitude of lights illuminating the dashboard. Constance always seemed so intrigued by these, and she studied them intently as I nudged the gearstick effortlessly into reverse.

'Stop!' she commanded, and I slammed my foot on the break so that we were both momentarily thrust forward.

'_What?_' I shrilled, the horrifying image of a witch's cat lying slain beneath the tyres hurtling through my mind's eye.

'I've forgotten something. Wait here a moment, will you?' Constance was now faffing to release the seatbelt, and after yet more assistance from me she disappeared into the castle, emerging moments later with her broomstick. She opened the front passenger door and bent down to address me.

'Where can I put this?'

I eyed the broomstick with what I hoped was a good impersonation of incredulity, before Constance reprimanded me for gawping "like one of the third years". Sighing, I stepped out of the car, walked around to the boot, and beckoned Constance to hand me the broom.

x

It wasn't quite the relaxing journey I'd had planned. Having a yard or so of twigs between one and one's passenger wasn't particularly conducive to conversation. Plus Constance had an unnerving habit of drawing a sharp breath and clutching the seat at every slight meander in the road, which I always took to be a reflection on my driving skills (or lack thereof), before I reminded myself that, as a witch, her exposure to automobiles was minimal to say the least.

As dusk fell we crossed the bridge into Henley, the town's lamps already glowing topaz in the half light. The traffic lights turned red and we both gazed in silence at the irresistible sight of the Thames, its rippling surface shimmering as a family of swans drifted gracefully along, disappearing into the shadows of a willow tree.

We pulled up to the restaurant, and after Constance wrongly observed that I would "never get the car into that space", I impressed her with my parallel parking. As we walked in, I felt her heady presence behind me. I cast my eyes over the already seated diners and observed how their attention turned from me to the impressive woman behind me, all eyes filled with tentative awe. I smiled to myself. My "date". I felt a brief flutter at the word, wondering what Constance would think if she knew.

'Table for two?' enquired the waiter, young and dark and smiling politely. Somehow he reminded me of a jockey – I didn't know if it was his demure stature or the gleaming, Frankie Dettori eyes. 'Have you made a reservation?'

I turned my head so that I could read the handwritten list on the counter in front of him, pointing a finger at my name. He nodded, drawing a ball-point line through it, grabbing a couple of menus and gesturing with his hand. 'Follow me, please.'

Even I, at my relatively meagre height, had to duck my head slightly to miss the faux-foliage that had been wound around the original beams. Constance, no doubt, would think it all rather frivolous and inconvenient and would no doubt tell me so when we sat down. The waiter stopped abruptly at a cosy corner table, neatly set with a well worn candle in the middle and napkins folded like origami, where I stood aside to let Constance choose her seat, taking the one opposite her. The waiter took my jacket and Constance's cloak and I watched him as he examined it, discretely, folding it neatly and disappearing off towards the cloak room. Constance seemed to notice.

'He probably thinks I'm an academic from Oxford,' she said, pulling her seat a little closer under the table and eyeing the wine menu. 'Now – red or white?'

It was a rhetorical question – Constance never drank white. At least, she never had when I'd been with her. It was Cabernet Sauvignon all the way, or maybe a nice Rijoca. _'As long as it's dark, rich and full bodied,_'she'd said once before, _'It will go down very nicely indeed'_.

A short while later, the waiter produced a bottle of vintage French red and poured a small drop into one of two large glasses. Constance took a sip, considering for a moment.

'Very good,' she said, not making eye contact with him as he continued to pour two generous helpings, a linen napkin folded neatly around the bottleneck. As he left the table, Constance raised her glass.

'To... oh, I don't know...'

'Friendship?' I finished her sentence, and she looked a little taken aback, as if the word hadn't occurred to her, but she approved nonetheless. Her eyes glimmered slightly as she allowed herself a satisfied smile.

'Yes. To friendship.'

Someone once told me that it was good luck to hold eye contact when raising a toast. As our glasses chinked in midair, I realised Constance must have heard that one, too.

x

'So what does it actually _feel_ like?' I leant forward slightly across the table as soon as the remains of the main course had been removed, my eyes on Constance's spell casting fingers as she flexed them in that absentminded way she always did. The wine had heightened my courage, aided my confidence at asking this enigmatic woman questions I was usually too reserved to ask. Her brow furrowed as she considered her response.

'It's difficult to describe,' she sighed, perusing the coffee menu. 'It's something I've had all my life, and I don't know how I would feel without it. So I have little to compare it to.'

'Does it feel like electricity?' I said, tilting my head inquisitively. 'That's what I always imagine. Jolts of electricity buzzing along your arm and out through your fingertips. Like when you hit your funny bone, but a thousand times stronger.' I felt myself blush as I caught the expression on Constance's face. It was the sort I imagined she'd give a pupil who had been put on the spot to answer a question to which they had not been listening. I smiled apologetically. 'Or maybe not...'

'I doubt it very much. Not that I have a vast experience of electricity. No. It's quite the most intense feeling. Empowering, I would say.' Constance placed the palms of her hands together, her fingers interlocking as she rested her chin on her knuckles, her eyes thoughtfully on the middle distance.

At that moment, the waiter reappeared.

'Dessert?' he asked, more to Constance than to me. Constance glanced in my direction, and I bit my lip to suppress a giggle.

x

By the time we emerged back onto Hart Street, it was almost dark. The evening air was cool, pleasant...

'Just the sort of evening for a stroll by the river,' Constance announced, as though reading my thoughts. 'Open the car for a moment, will you?' I did as she asked, flicking the switch on the key remote and watching as Constance clicked open the boot door, before –

'Oh _no_, Constance, _don't_!' I hastened over to her, almost losing my footing as the air and the alcohol combined and caused my stiletto heels to misjudge the kerb. 'Not here! People will wonder what the hell –'

'Then let them wonder,' Constance said, calmly, holding the broom back so that I couldn't grapple for it. 'I am not about to forsake the cloth of my calling just because we happen to be in a non-magical area.' I sighed, reluctantly stepping back and smiling apologetically to an older couple who I recognised from the restaurant, as they strolled past arm in arm, expressions of puzzlement on their faces.

'Can't you at least conceal it, or something?' I hissed.

'No, my dear, I cannot.' Constance turned on her heel and was making her way towards the river. 'Well? Are you coming or not?'

'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' I called after has as I hastened to keep up.

x

Fortunately, the riverside path was not lit, so the occasional passer by - if they even noticed at all - seemed to shake off the image of the imposing woman striding along with a broomstick at her side as if it were some trick of the light. The water glistened to our left as we walked in silence, the only glimmer of light coming from the occasional houseboat we encountered along the bank, the grandiose houses on the other side of the river, and the stars in the ink-blue sky. I stole a glance up at Constance. I had tried to savour every moment of her company, delightful as it was and so painfully infrequent – yet the after effects of the alcohol, I realised, would do one of two things. They would blur my appreciation of the evening, or worse: they might encourage me to do something stupid, and then I'd lose her forever. Biting back the negative thoughts, I took a few deep breaths, determined to sober up before I spoke to her again – when at that moment, she stopped abruptly, turning to me.

'Well, come on then,' she said, holding her broom in front of her and instructing it to hover.

'Sorry?'

'You can hardly drive again tonight,' she said, as she positioned herself side-saddle on the broom, jerking her head to indicate I climb on with her. 'You've flown in aeroplanes before, haven't you?'

'Yes, I have, but–'

'And you'd had a little go on this one,' she said, tapping the side of the broom.

'But -'

'But _what?_'

I eyed the broom for a moment, before shrugging. 'I just don't understand how they stay up, that's all.'

Constance rolled her eyes.

'They "stay up" with magic, my dear. Magic can be trusted implicitly, unlike engineering, which cannot, as you will see if you research the history of aviation.'

After further consideration, I walked reluctantly around to the side of the broom, lowering myself cautiously onto it and gripping the handle at either side of my thighs.

'Up and away!' Constance commanded, and as we sped forwards and upwards, I cried out in fright and flung my arms around Constance's waist, hearing her click her teeth at my ineptitude to simply hold on.


	2. Chapter 2

Here we are, Chapter 2... happy reading.

For those of you who are reading Bellatoxica, I hope to be updating v. soon.

Thanks to those who have reviewed this and BT so far. :-)

2

There was an inherently magical feeling about broomstick flying, the cool night breeze snatching at your hair, the altitude low enough for you to appreciate the glorious sights of the sky. And, despite the darkness of the river beneath us, I felt completely safe with Constance, knowing she would not let any harm come to me. If only I had a little more confidence at taking off, I was sure I wouldn't still have my arms fastened about her waist now; but, that said, it was rather a nice place to be...

Any doubts I'd had about the existence of witches had faded long ago; as detached from my present as was a mother's life before her children. Now, a world without magic felt like a dismal, ludicrous, _impossible _distant memory. When I had asked Constance on one occasion why there was a human predisposition to deny the reality of magic, she had allayed my curiosity with the same informed intellect that never failed to reassure me:

'People refuse to believe what they don't understand – what science can't explain. That is why so many refute the existence of God, the afterlife, Heaven and Hell... Unfortunately for those rather blinkered individuals, we witches exist whether or not it sits comfortably with their constitution. Their minds, however, turn a blind eye to what they wish to ignore – that which interferes with their own personal doctrines.'

My thoughts occupied me throughout our journey, crossing patchworks of fields, neon-lit motorways, negotiating hills and gracing the tops of dark forests. I peered over Constance's shoulder to see that the stars had disappeared in the light pollution of the city. I clung to her more tightly, excited by where our journey was taking us, the chill night air having the welcome effect of sobering me up. I listened to the gentle flapping of Constance's cloak in the wind as we soared closer to the capital, meeting again with the Thames and passing the golden glow of the Houses of Parliament, the grandeur of Tower Bridge, the brazen modernity of the London Eye...

Constance veered the broom slightly off course, away from the centre and eventually towards a collection of haphazard roofs reminiscent of a Dickensian toy town. The broom slowed instinctively as if it knew its location, and before long we were making a smooth descent onto a cobbled, narrow street thick with misshapen old buildings, crooked and aged in appearance. Constance touched down gracefully and got to her feet. I too dismounted, stumbling slightly, falling against her as she seized my upper arms so that I regained my balance.

'God, that was amazing,' I breathed, absorbing my surroundings before turning to Constance, who had disentangled my fingers from her robe and was heading for a side street. 'Why are we here, anyway?'

Constance didn't answer, and I rushed after her down a darkened alley and out onto another brightly lit street, where the houses were a little more spaced out and not quite so archaic in design. I had to almost break into a run to keep up with Constance, who before long turned into one of the driveways, striding up the terracotta-paved pathway to a large forest-green front door complete with stained glass and a brass doorknock in the shape of a cat's face. The looming house, which I backpedalled to observe, was in darkness. As Constance fumbled inside her cloak pocket, I took in the large bay window, the tiled canopy that sheltered the porch, and the front garden, which was almost completely surrounded by a laurel bushes. At last, Constance produced a key and fiddled with the lock.

'Whose house _is_ this?' I asked, glancing confusedly around. Constance stepped into the darkness, tracing her fingertips across the wall in search of a switch and turning triumphantly to me as the hallway was basked in light.

'Mine, of course.'

x

I hadn't known what to expect of Constance Hardbroom's house. I'd never really thought about it. I'd imagined – somewhat ignorantly, it rather seemed now - that she'd spent her entire life at Cackle's Academy; that Castle Overblow was the home in which she worked, read, ate, slept, and where she had possibly even grown up. Some of our past liaisons had been during the school holidays, and as I had always met with her on the school premises, I'd never had any reason to believe she was ever anywhere else.

The hallway floor consisted of the same patterned terracotta as the tiles on the pathway outside – cold to the soles of my feet, which, once I'd slid out of my stilettos, were protected only by a thin layer of 15-denier Pretty Polly. Constance disappeared into the kitchen, indicating that I make myself comfortable in the lounge, and when I wandered cautiously in she had already cast a lighting spell so that a rather tired looking candle was casting an orange ring from the mantelpiece, along with one on a small coffee table and another by the hearth. I peered at the closely packed bookshelves which took up the whole of an alcove next to a leather sofa – each title on magical theory, or magical instruction, or magical history. Turning to the rest of the room, I saw that it was predominantly furnished with an old rocking chair, heavy purple velvet curtains, a working fireplace which Constance had also magically lit, and a large oil painting of the Academy, illustrated as though the artist had sketched it from somewhere outside the open gates. I drew my face closer to the painting, squinting in the dim light to read the handwriting in the bottom left corner.

_To Constance, _

_Where I first saw you, and always think of you... _

_With love,_

But the scrawl below was merely a signature, and an indecipherable one at that. I tried to ignore it - the involuntary spasm of jealousy in my stomach...

I jumped as Constance cleared her throat, standing in the doorway with another bottle of wine and two glasses. She placed the glasses on the table, pouring wine into both and putting the bottle out of harm's way on a bookshelf. Sitting down on the sofa, she indicated for me to join her.

I felt a surge of self-consciousness as I took my seat beside Constance. It was more than a little strange being in her abode – like being at an aunt's house in which you were afraid to move for fear of spilling tea on the beige carpet. Not that there _was_ beige carpet – or indeed anything beige about Constance at all; but I had never so much as been anywhere _near_ her chamber at the academy, and certainly never expected to be invited. I watched her discreetly from the corner of my eye as she took a sip of wine, slipping her feet out of her shoes with a feline movement and resting a heel on the corner of the table, her legs crossed at the ankles.

'You certainly wouldn't condone _that_ at school,' I said, noticing the elegant arch of her instep. She laughed, gently, sinking further back into the sofa.

'Of course not,' she flexed her toes, closing her eyes as her wineglass tilted slightly in her lap. '"Do as I say, not as I do".' She quoted, turning her face to me. 'Did you know that teachers are often failed actors?'

I considered her words for a moment. No, I had not known that. But I could see why it might be true.

'Are you saying _Miss Hardbroom_ is a mere character?' I asked, sceptically, running a fingertip around the cool rim of my glass.

'To an extent, of course. You don't honestly think I could keep up that persona _all_ the time, do you?'

I drew my knees up onto the sofa and brushed my palm along the semi-opaque material of my tights.

'Well...' I began, cautiously, 'I suppose not. But then I don't think that Constance is the exact opposite of Miss Hardbroom, is she? I mean, you're still pretty straitlaced, aren't you?' Before I'd even finished the sentence, Constance had clicked her teeth and was letting out a low, exasperated groan.

'I hate that term, I really do. It's so – _frigid_.'

I couldn't help it – I let out a burst of laughter, cupping my hand over my mouth, my eyes apologetic as Constance observed me in the flickering light.

'Sorry Constance, it's just – well...'

'You think that describes me perfectly, don't you?' she shrilled, outrage in her voice.

'No, no – of course not. Well... maybe just a little. But you don't do yourself any favours.'

She set her jaw, turning her attention contemplatively towards the window.

'Miss Drill is the one who doesn't do herself any favours.' She said, her eyes narrowed.

'You really don't like her, do you?'

Constance took a large glug of wine and placed her glass on the table.

'It's not a question of liking. She can be a little too big for her boots, that's all.'

'So you feel threatened by her?' I dared, watching as Constance rolled her eyes. I smiled, inwardly. _Miss Hardbroom has re-entered the building_.

'She's hardly going to climb the proverbial ladder in a witch academy, is she?'

'That's a little unfair, Constance. I don't think she wants to. But she feels singled out a lot of the time, and I can't help but think you rather enjoy that.'

'Oh, she feels singled out all right! She makes the most of every opportunity to remind us of _that!_ So why apply for a position at a magical institution in the first place? She knew what she was letting herself in for.'

I bit my tongue. Discussing the shortcomings of one friend with another went completely against my grain, but Constance, as usual, had a point, and there was little I could add in Imogen's defence.

'And Miss Bat? She's never outshone you, has she? And she must have been there _decades_ longer than you. You should be proud of yourself, Constance.'

'Miss Bat has, what I believe your generation call, "issues". In my day they called it what it is - insanity.'

I allowed myself a smirk at Constance's sardonic response. Several quiet moments passed, and I tilted my head back slightly to massage the tenseness in my shoulders, happening to notice the painting again.

'So come on, Constance,' I said, eventually, biting the inside of my cheek as though it might encourage me to broach the subject. 'You must have a boyfriend stashed away _some_where.'

Constance had returned to her reclined state, her eyes closed with her head resting against the back of the sofa, her face turned slightly away from me. She had removed the hairgrips from her bun so that the long braid was hanging like an uncoiled serpent about her shoulder.

'Must I?' she replied, entirely unfazed.

'A girlfriend then,' I asked, mischievously. That was enough to provoke her eyes to snap open and she turned to me, her expression more Miss Hardbroom than Constance.

'And _now_ who is getting too big for her boots?'

'Oh come _on!_' I placed a hand on her forearm and gave it a little squeeze. 'I don't believe for a moment that you confine yourself to a life of solitude. There must be _some_one.'

She observed me with a cautionary silence and an expression that warned me to think very carefully before overstepping the mark. Seemingly satisfied that I'd decided against goading her further, she reached for the bottle.

'Have another glass of wine,' she said, already pouring.

As I studied her perfectly contoured face, its proximity unusually close, I concluded with a sinking heart that there were some things no one would ever really know about Constance Hardborom. Except, perhaps, one lucky person. And whoever he or she was, I would have given multiple limbs to be in their position.

x

I felt vaguely aware of a sense of morning as I stirred from my slumbers, awoken as usual by the sound of next door's children playing raucously on their trampoline. My eyes flickered, a familiar pounding reigning my head, reminding me of my reckless alcohol consumption the previous night. Groaning, I unfurled my legs so that they stretched further down the bed – and was shocked as my feet met with something solid. Groping for the top of the duvet, I peered over it, my eyes squinting in the unwelcome glare of my bedroom, the curtains already drawn back.

'Constance,' I murmured, thickly. 'What are you doing here?'

She was sitting at the end of my bed, her back against the wall, engrossed in a book entitled "A Study of the Non-Magical Community: Past, Present, and Predicted Future Doom". She looked over at me casually, snapping the book shut and shifting to the edge of the bed, where she reached down to pick up her handbag.

'Ah. So you've decided to join the land of the living,' she glanced at the wall clock in a way that suggested I should, too, and I peered up to see the hands almost reaching 11.15. 'If it's all the same with you, I ought to make my way back to the Academy.'

'Constance,' I whispered, pushing myself up to a sitting position and attempting to tame my bed hair, 'Keep it down, will you? My parents will hear.'

She glanced at the door. 'I doubt that. You father is in the garden on a weed killing mission and your mother is cooking what I believe is commonly termed as a "fry up".'

All the time she was speaking I gestured nervously, pleading with her to quieten her voice. Just what my Mum would think if she walked in to find a severe looking schoolmarm with a broomstick propped against the end of my bed was more than my hangover could take.

'How did we get back here?' I asked, my mind foggy as scraps of last night pieced themselves together.

'We apparated, of course. Now,' she got to her feet, slinging her handbag over her shoulder and gathering up her cloak and broom with a sigh. 'You will remember what we spoke about last night, after our little game of chess – well done, by the way,' Her congratulations were reluctant and I racked my brains in confusion, scant memories of a chess game forming like a foggy dream. Did I really win, against Constance the Great? 'And you will remember that you are sworn to utter secrecy never to breathe a word of it to anyone?'

I felt a rising sense of panic as I tried to remember what Constance and I had spoken about, aware that my Mum's slippered footsteps were mounting the stairs as she obliviously hummed the theme tune from _The Archers_.

'Erm – yes, Constance, of course.'

'And you are aware that I will _know_ if you tell anyone?' Her eyes were dangerous. No, I hadn't been aware of that. My mum's knuckles rapped at the door.

'Yes, of course.'

'_Love_?' came my mum's voice from the landing. My eyes looked desperately to Constance.

'Constance, please,' I hissed, 'She'll never understand, she'll –'

'_Love? Are you all right in there?_'

'Very well then,' Constance straightened herself up. As the door swung open and Constance vanished into thin air, I was sure she'd shot a meaningful glance at my dressing gown.

'Oh. You're alive then,' my mum said, her brow un-furrowing in relief. 'Didn't hear you come in last night. Go anywhere nice?'

I slid out of bed, reaching for my dressing gown and fumbling for the sleeve openings.

'Not really,' I lied, my memory erratically piecing together the no-holds-barred conversation we'd had at the kitchen table in the small hours.

'Come down for brekkie, then. You done with these?' She stooped to pick up an old pile of magazines from my dumping ground beneath the radiator.

'Er – yeah.' My words were distracted as my palm inadvertently brushed the material of my dressing gown, feeling something unfamiliar within the pocket. Sliding a hand inside, I peered down discretely, turning a stoppered test-tube over in my fingers so I could read Constance's calligraphic handwriting:

_Morning After Potion_

With it was a small piece of parchment, which, glancing to the door to ensure my mum had left, I hastily unfolded.

_Until next time... _

With a grin I bounded out of the room and practically skipped down to breakfast, my hangover all but forgotten. Constance Hardbroom had finally accepted me as the friend I had aspired to be for so long: the friend she could be herself with, who she looked to for advice - and, most importantly, the friend she trusted implicitly with the deepest, darkest secrets of her heart.


End file.
